Azrael
by Vena Grey
Summary: AU. Kagome has an intriguing converstation with a stranger one night on a Spanish beach. Mild BanKag. Part of Phantom Night.


**Azrael  
**An Inuyasha fiction by Vena Grey

_Disclaimer: I am, unfortunately, not the genius creator of Inuyasha._

_Summary: AU. __Kagome has an intriguing conversation with a stranger one night on a Spanish beach. Mild BanKag. Part of Phantom Night._

_Yes, here I am, again, with another new one-shot and another new __shippin__g. I've forgotten how much I like the Bankotsu-Kagome pairing._

_This story is not related in any way, shape, or form to Outsider, __but it's part of the same set__ of fictions. Kagome's man is Bankotsu, this time. _

_Oh, one last thing: Tokyo wasn't called Tokyo until 1869, and this story is based in 1820, so I used Tokyo's former name of Edo in this story. Just so you know. :)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

The sun was going down on another evening in Valencia. Various shades of pink, orange, and purple danced along woven strands of cirrus clouds that lined the sky and turned the backs of the blue-green Mediterranean waves a peachlike colour. I could hear music from the stable hand's guitar playing cheery tunes in the background, along with the celebration from our neighbor, the winemaker's, good fortune this year. Their happy laughs rang through the stone courtyard effortlessly, jumbling the sounds and making it sound like there were a lot more people present than in reality. I pulled my legs to myself and let out a sigh. 

My name is Kagome Higurashi, and I am the daughter of a Japanese merchant who travelled the world and found fortune with the olive growers of Spain. Our entire family left the shrine that had been in our family for centuries behind in Edo, and packed our things to move halfway across the world to the Mediterranean countryside in 1815. I was twelve at the time. We've been here for five years, and not one day goes by that I don't miss my former life in Japan.

Every aspect of our lives changed. I had to start dressing differently to fit in with the girls my age at the Catholic mission; they took my beautiful lavender and baby blue kimono away and replaced it with heavy silk dresses and a corset. I couldn't write Kanji or speak Japanese anymore; they made me learn Spanish, French, and English to communicate with various clients of my father and friends of the family. I had to learn to sew, to knit, to cook, to entertain suitors…to be a _proper European lady_ for my expectant father. But I hated every minute of it.

I kept a journal in Japanese behind my father's back. My mother did the same thing, as she hated living in Europe as much as I did. When my father was away on business, us two and my brother, Souta, would all speak Japanese so as not to forget where we truly belonged. We had fun that way, playing traditional Japanese games that my mother had kept hidden away from her very Westernized husband, cooking the traditional foods that we rarely got to eat anymore. We even entertained many of our Spanish friends this way…up until my father died.

Despite protests from many of the local men as well as my father's former clients, my mother had long since learned his job and took over his position as a merchant. I became entrusted with the care of my then eleven-year-old brother (who is now thirteen) at the age of fifteen, as well as with the care and maintenance of the house just like my mother had done before my father's death. She cared for the family as well, if not better, than my father had, cutting her hair short to fit in better with other merchants; and she began to set some of her income aside each month. She was saving up enough money to buy us a ship back home to Japan.

I exhaled the salty seaside air loudly, and looked down at my feet. The pinchy black lace-up boots I wore were still there. My brows furrowed in distaste as I proceeded to remove the offending footwear from each foot, throwing the expensive leather as far away from me as I could. Which, admittedly, wasn't very far while sitting down.

As I heard the second crash on something with a metallic ring a small distance away from me, I heard a soft laugh. I stood up immediately, shaking the sand off my airy white dress and out of my long, dark hair as I turned to find the source of the noise, when I realized my thrown shoe had hit something.

The laugh came from a young man, who, from this distance, was likely only a few years older than myself. I gasped when I saw him; he was wearing what looked to be a very expensive cream-coloured dress shirt and classy black pants. His bangs framed a purple four-pointed star on his forehead, which I assumed was a tattoo. His long, black hair was woven into a braid that swung behind him as he walked, and he was carrying what was easily the largest sword I've ever seen in my life over his shoulder (I assumed this was what my shoe had hit). But the blade wasn't what made me gasp; this man was _Japanese!_

"Who are you?" I asked him in Spanish. He didn't respond immediately, however.

"Do you speak Japanese?" He asked in my native language. I smiled.

"Yes, sir, I do," I responded in Japanese.

"No 'sir', please. Too formal." I nodded, still standing about fifteen feet away from the man. The massive sword had me on edge a little, and he noticed, planting the blade firmly into the sand and resting a hand on the hilt. "Would you like to tell me who you are?"

"Kagome Higurashi," I responded, stepping a few feet closer.

"Aah, so you're that merchant's daughter. That female merchant who seems to be outdoing all the male ones around here." His tone was light and friendly-sounding.

"You know my mother?"

"No, but I've heard rumors about her. Not much isn't heard by the infernal gossiping women of King Ferdinand's court." My brows shot up in surprise at the mention of the king and his court. _'That could explain the exquisite sword...'_ I mused.

"And you work with the king. Wow, you're certainly full of surprises."

He laughed softly, and I cocked a brow.

"Well, I don't exactly _work_ with the king. It's hard to explain what I do."

"You can explain, I have time."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," He said with an unusual smile before sitting down. It looked as though he were hiding something behind that smile—not sadness, like the usual cliché—but…_maliciousness_, maybe? I wasn't sure, but I sat down a couple feet away from him, stretching my legs out and feeling the fine sand move past them.

"Try me." Despite the slightly-unnerving smile, this man felt extremely easy to be around. It was a pleasant change to the uptight European men I usually dealt with.

"Well, think of it this way. If the king or really anyone else decide they want someone dead, the next thing they know, whoever they decide on turns up dead somewhere."

A few moments passed as I thought about what he said. From what it sounded like, he was saying he was a personal hit man to the king. My eyes widened as the realization dawned on me.

"Are you the king's personal assassin?" I asked him, my tone more wary than it had been until this point.

"You could say that."

"That's completely believable, with that sword you've got there."

"Would you still believe me if I told you they didn't have to tell me who they wanted dead?" I laughed a bit, but he sounded serious. I quickly pulled myself together.

"No, probably not," I said honestly. After all, his idea was completely far-fetched.

"Okay, then I won't tell you."

"What are you saying? That you can read peoples' minds? Is that what you mean by 'they don't have to tell you who they want dead?'" I tried to suppress a disbelieving smile, but it didn't completely work, and he noticed. He snorted and his indigo eyes closed momentarily.

"Told you you wouldn't believe it." He opened his eyes again and looked at me, a smirk playing at his features. "I can prove it, though, if you want."

"I would have to want someone dead for that to work, though, right?"

"Well, yeah," he gazed straight into my eyes before continuing, "but it looks to me like you do. A girl in that mission you go to…her name's Lorena, she has long, dark brown hair, brown eyes, is tall and real thin, grew up in a rich family of Catholics and hangs out with girls who love to rub their religion in peoples' faces. That sound right?"

I gasped as he finished. He'd perfectly described Lorena Santiago, who incessantly got in my face at school because I wasn't Catholic.

"I didn't even realize I wanted her dead…" I said in a hushed tone.

"Not everyone does. I can detect hate as well as its source in peoples' minds. That's what you called 'mind reading' earlier." He looked away from me and reclined back on his hands luxuriously. "Want me to take care of her for you?"

"Gods, what are you, the Angel of Death?"

"Some call me that." He tilted his head back and laughed a little. "Samael, Sariel, Azrael, Yama...the Japanese think of me as a woman and call me Izanagi...I've even been called Satan." He looked at me again. "If you can't decide, though, call me Bankotsu. That's my human name." He noticed the frightened and astonished look in my eyes and shifted his weight onto one arm, lightly touching the side of my face, his lighthearted grin ever-present. "You're looking at me like I'm about to kill you."

"How do I know you aren't?" I responded nervously. I didn't shy away from his touch like every fiber of my being was telling me to, or move at all, for that matter.

"You're right," he began to finger a lock of my hair. "How _do_ you know I'm not?" He laughed quietly again. "I don't go around killing everyone I meet, you know…" he paused a moment before sarcastically finishing, "just most of them."

"And do I qualify as 'most?'"

"Mmm…nah. Not many are brave enough to give Death their name," He winked at me. "And the ones that are become my followers. They even came up with a name for the group." He laughed silently for a moment.

"You mean to say there are _more_ angels of death?"

"Nah, not really…not like me, anyway. They only kill who I tell them to."

"_That's_ real comforting…" I said sardonically. "You planning on making me into one of these followers of yours?" Bankotsu stared straight ahead, and his face hardened a little.

"You couldn't even if you wanted to. I can't do that to a woman." The hand that was stroking my hair slid down my neck and over my collarbone, stopping at my chest. He looked at where they'd stopped. "Besides, Jakotsu would flip."

I nodded, assuming this "Jakotsu" was one of Bankotsu's followers.

I was right. Only a few seconds after that, I heard a slightly feminine, but still male voice call out "Hey, Bankotsu!" several times. A man who looked just slightly older than Bankotsu wearing a very peculiar kimono, one that was rolled up on one side, exposing his leg, came running down the beach. He, too, carried a large sword, but it was sheathed. "Who's that?" He pointed at me.

"Kagome Higurashi," Bankotsu responded for me, rising to his feet and picking up his enormous sword again.

"Ooh, damn, she gave you her name?" The oddly-dressed man asked disbelievingly. "She's not joining us, is she?"

"No. You know the rules, Jakotsu, she can't."

"But do you want her to?" Bankotsu gave Jakotsu a murderous look that appeared to convey a message only Jakotsu could understand. Apparently he took it as an affirmative, because Jakotsu then grinned slyly at Bankotsu, winking as he put a finger to his lips. "Aah. That's okay, I won't tell!"

Bankotsu sighed.

"Go back to the others, Jakotsu. I'll be there shortly."

His comrade giggled before turning around and running off in the direction he came. I withheld my comments.

Bankotsu rested his sword over his shoulder as he watched Jakotsu take off. When he was at a safe distance, the Angel of Death walked the few paces toward me, capturing my lips with his for a few sweet seconds. The hand that wasn't holding his sword slid slowly down my curves. His hand stopped at my thigh, which he gave a light squeeze to. I blushed as he pulled back.

"I've always wanted to try that," He said, his grin a bit more roguish than previously. "Goodbye, Kagome."

And, with that, Death walked out of my life just as easily as it had entered.

I returned home a little happier than I'd been when I left. Our neighbors' party was still going, and I wasn't asked about where I'd been until my brother Souta came up to me, closely trailed by our cat, Buyo.

"Hey, Kagome, where've you been? And where are your shoes?"

I didn't respond to the first part, that was my little secret. After all, I had no way of telling what had happened to my brother without getting in trouble; if I said I'd been out talking to a guy, I'd be chastised by my mother, and, if I said I'd had a brush with Death, everyone would be fawning over me and wondering if I was okay. And I didn't want that.

"Oh, at the beach somewhere," I responded to my brother, who took my response as an answer to both parts of his question. I walked back into our house.

I never did bother to retrieve those pinchy shoes.

* * *

_Well, that was fun. I apologize, this story totally ran away from me somewhere near the middle, and I'm too lazy to change it. _

_I'm not particularly proud of this piece...it moved much faster than my stories usually do. But what do you think? How'd I do? I was experimenting with another new pairing this time. The next installment will be a new pairing for me, too, actually…;)_

_Well, what I'd love right now besides a hot tub and a raspberry mocha is a review. Tell me what you think I did right, what I screwed up horribly, anything! I even take flames. But, if you're going to flame at me, make sure there's a point to your message, please. _

_-Vena_


End file.
